Draconis Dominus
by Lerafea
Summary: We have Harry Potter, alternate schooling and graduation. Then we have a hot dragon handler, some romance, war and a happy ending. What's there not to like? WARNINGS: Slash, AU & possible mature themes
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I hold no claim over the 'Harry Potter' series. No monetary profits will be made.

Warnings: Slash, mature content, Alternate Universe and unbeta-ed.

Chapter rating: G

Author's note: I apologize if I unintentionally butcher the English language or the Harry Potter characters in one way or another. I'm just out to have some fun, really. The writing style is probably not something that you'll get to see in chaptered fiction very often and might seem choppy to some but it _should_ be able to get the story across. So please read and enjoy. Comments are more than welcome.

* * *

**Draconis Dominus **

_His Salvation _

The first time he laid his eyes on Jeremy Miles, Harry Potter thought he was an angel. A beautiful, avenging angel that halted his breath and made verdant eyes widen to the size of the pancakes he had made for Dudley in the morning.

"Harry?" The question was gentle, tentative even, and the dark-haired child could only blink and nod uncertainly from where he sat huddled against his cot in his cupboard under the stairs. For the life of him, he could not phantom why someone this beautiful was paying him any attention, much less calling him by his name. He had been told, on no uncertain terms, by his uncle that names were meant for the normal.

And Harry was not normal by a long, long shot.

"Come," the angel murmured, sad gray eyes searching his as he knelt in front of the cupboard door. "Let's get you out from that filthy cupboard."

Hands reached forward into his bedroom, fingers moving to curl about his shoulders and Harry could not suppress the flinch nor hide the way he tried to move back into the shadows, away from the touch of human flesh. The arms withdrew in an instant and the child could not help the flush of guilt that pervaded his mind at being responsible for the frown that marred the visage of the angel.

"Sorry," he mumbled, fingers seeking out for the baby blanket on his cot.

But the frown only deepened and seven-year-old Harry Potter averted his gaze from the figure kneeling before him, cheeks flushing hotly.

"I promise I won't hurt you."

"Uncle Vernon said to stay," Harry explained in a tone which was certain and firm in an odd, unconscious imitation of his aunt's voice.

A flash of anger lit up the pair of gray eyes like a flash of lighting across stormy heavens as low, harsh words spewed forth in a fierce litany. The angel stood and strode off into the general direction of the sitting room still hissing curses under his breath, and Harry whispered a sigh of relief. The child would not claim to understand tempers nor anger but it was something he was familiar with, at least.

A loud crash of porcelain impacting the tiled floor made Harry jump as he clutched the tiny rectangle of cloth to his chest. He eyed the open cupboard door warily, wondering if he should close it before his uncle could descend upon him like an angry hailstorm because he was incredibly reluctant to get into trouble on his seventh birthday.

He left it, though, if only to enjoy the cooler air that circulated in the house but not his room. There was also a whole lot of ruckus going on in the living room as the angel traded loud and heated words with his guardians. Yes, his uncle was too preoccupied at the moment to hurl verbal abuse at his nephew at the moment.

Perhaps someone had finally noticed the harsh treatment he was subjected to in this household, the boy hoped as he chewed on the insides of his lips. This, he knew, was a dangerous hope that had been dashed far too many times for the seven-year-old's liking. Yet, awaking to the soothing voice of the stranger had been like applying a soothing balm to his bruised soul and he was not so disillusioned with the world to have completely abandoned hope just yet.

There were times when he had come close, though.

It was the dark-haired child's turn to frown as traced the faded print on his old blanket until a large shadow obscured the light entering his cupboard. He swallowed nervously and audibly in the tiny space as he looked up into the puce-coloured face of his uncle. It was a beautiful shade that few could capture on paper and a sure indicator that his guardian wanted nothing more than to toss him into the nearest trashcan available. Or the furthest, depending on how one saw it.

"Good morning, Uncle," he greeted the man politely and respectfully, although he was not sure it had been audible over the heavy pants his uncle was issuing.

"Get out," the man snarled in response, flinging the door further open with so much force, Harry thought with a flinch that he might have wrenched it off its hinges.

"Out?" He repeated dumbly instead, fingers tightening on his hold of the blanket.

"Out, Harry," the angel, whose name was Jeremy, spoke up from behind his uncle, a forced smile upon his lips. "With me. Away from here. Would you like that?"

Harry eyed the blond stranger with a tilted head, an uncanny expression of open curiousity etched on his features. His gaze shifted back to his uncle, from whom he could detect a hint of fear even though he remained wholly unaware of the knife Jeremy held against the fleshy back. As usual, the child's probing eyes seemed to unnerve his uncle who gave a large twitch and let out a hissed curse.

Young Harry nodded and his Salvation smiled.

* * *

_Lifetime Companions_

Jeremy Miles was no angel despite his blonde hair and gray eyes and overall too-beautiful-to-be-true appearance. For one, he lacked the customary large, feathered appendages that people associated with the heavenly messengers. For another, he highly doubted that angels were meant to wrestle with juvenile dragons in muddy paddocks as though he were one himself.

Cheering filled the air as the blond was pinned by the triumphant hatchling, with smoke huffed out at the silly human whose chest it had pinned. Harry Potter smiled fondly at the scene as his classmates called out encouragements and friendly jibes at his grubby mentor.

"Is Elijah hungry?" He called out, voice carrying from where he leant against the fence as he coo-ed at the young dragon. "Would Elijah like to have a meal, mm? Doesn't Jeremy look good enough for you to eat, darling?"

Laughter rang out as Jeremy sent a glare his charge's way, easing claws out of his dragonhide vest and untangling himself from the preening dragonling.

"Hungry, Harry?" He leered, sending his teenage audience into a fit of snickers and coughs as he approached the group, dusting off his clothes with little results. The raven-haired youth flushed lightly, but returned the taunt with a gamely smirk.

"Not for you, certainly, _pedast_."

"Why, you cheeky little brat," Jeremy growled, flicking mud at him and the rest of the graduating class. "Don't think that just 'cause you're _Dominus _that you can get away with back-talking a member of the faculty."

"We're graduating, sir," a girl reminded him and he shot her a devilish smirk.

"You'll be fair game then."

Mock groans and challenges were directed at the man then and Harry chuckled, agilely leaping over the fence as he headed back towards the castle of _Animalis Academia. _His classmates followed his lead, surrounding him as they chattered excitedly with exuberance only teenagers could have, tossing goodbyes and waves at their teacher alongside reminders not to skip his dinner.

It was common knowledge that Harry had a whole category of affection reserved solely for Jeremy. This resulted in continuous jibes and innuendos sent his way that went ignored and unchallenged because he could not bring himself to bother very much. It was not so much the twenty-odd years that separated the two that made him raise his eyebrows in silent incredulity, but that he simply could not even _imagine _being even remotely romantically involved with his angel, attractive though he may be.

Jeremy had been the one to retrieve him from his childhood guardians and days of horrible manual labour and neglect. That alone was reason enough for him to love the man. Although Harry later learnt that he was under the orders of The Academy's headmistress to offer him a place in the school, it did little to alter his perception of the man. Call it blind hero-worship if you would, the green-eyed wizard could not care less.

And yes, Harry Potter was a wizard.

The Academy, or the _Animalias Academia, _was a school that specialized in the handling of magical creatures. It accepted wizarding children from the age of seven and the curriculum spanned the length of ten years. Traditional classes of Reading and Writing, Mathematics, Languages, Etiquette, Charms, Transfiguration, Magical defense, Care of Magical Creatures, Combat and Potions were taught for the first five years before specialization set in.

Then there was the reptilian faculty, the avian faculty, the humanoid faculty, the mammalian faculty and countless of other sub-divisions that Harry never did get around to remembering. Needless to say, The Academy was hardly a typical wizarding institution.

It hosted students from around the globe, and its location was largely unknown and left for speculation. What truly made the school special, however, was that each and every single student had an innate affinity for magical creatures. Some had emphatic abilities and others, like Harry, had the ability to communicate with some creatures. This accounted for why schooling started at such a young age. Abilities had to be honed and it was necessary that students felt comfortable around such creatures before any prejudice could set in and take root.

Harry loved it. He loved the magic and the creatures and his classmates and his teachers. He loved being 'abnormal' and often wished that his uncle could see him in such a setting; see how he had failed to 'beat the magic out of him'.

He had grown from the quiet and uncertain child to a brilliant and sociable young man whose magical abilities and an infinite capacity to love had gone a long way in forging friendships and earning respect from his peers. It also helped, of course, that he was the Boy-Who-Lived although the school soon learnt that Harry was not fond of fawning. In fact, it annoyed him very much. There was not, he declared, enough time for such rubbish.

True enough, it was ten years filled with learning and hard work as the teachers and mentors sought to fill every nook and cranny of their minds with facts, lessons and knowledge. This, coupled with the mere fact that teenagers often had their minds occupied with one thing or another, left little time for any fixation on the child saviour.

But those ten years were rapidly coming to an end.

Even if his nights were filled with painful nightmares that split the skull and chilled the bones of those that heard his screams. Even if he knew that out there, somewhere, there was a destiny with his name on it waiting to be fulfilled. Even if he hated himself for the reluctance he had to face up to what laid ahead of him. Even if his innocence was on the verge of being dashed like an egg upon granite.

He did not want to leave; there were things here he would sorely miss.

There was a hint of wistfulness in emerald orbs as Harry speared a potato with his fork, scanning his classmates across the table that they shared in the cafeteria. He would definitely miss the times they spent together, from getting into trouble and mucking out in the stables for detentions to the sharing of joy and understanding of new experiences. The intake for each year was small enough that most of the students across all ten years were acquainted with one another to varying degrees but Harry knewthat _these_ people would be the ones to see him through life. The Academy's graduating class of 1997.

"The dinner table is not a place for introspection, H.J.P."

Harry turned to meet the reproving gaze of the sole Chinese in their motley group of animal-lovers and offered a sheepish grin to placate her. Enya Lim was the only other graduating _Dominus _in their year, which was hardly surprising considering her prodigal gift for anything avian-related. She kept him on his toes when it came to broomsticks. Complacency, he found, would only lead to her flying circles around his mop of messy hair.

"Oh, I'm not so sure I'm capable of introspection," he teased, flashing a charming grin at the diminutive girl. "It requires a brain, after all."

"And heavens know you haven't got one," she agreed cheerfully, breaking off a piece of bread and nibbling on it. "Want to go flying later?"

"Quidditch!" Leonard Maynack broke in, and the whole class was soon swept up in plans for a quick match before morning classes the next day.

He was _really _going to miss this.

* * *

_Silent Promises _

A light breeze ruffled unruly hair and tickled at tanned skin, welcoming and welcomed as Harry stared up at the sight before him with something akin to awe. The atmosphere was almost palpably charged with a magical quality often described in fairy tales, beautiful and enchanting – the stuff dreams are made of.

The Romanian Dragons' Gate was an impressive sight to behold, towering at least a storey or two above Harry's lithe frame, iron-wrought and polished to shine in the high-noon sunlight. A dragon roar sounded in the distance and Harry smiled, eyes gleaming brightly in anticipation as he placed an open palm under the snout of the marble dragon standing guard by the side.

"Harry James Potter," he announced clearly, tilting his head to the side in interest as the statue's tongue flickered out, followed by a probing brush of magic. "With an appointment with _Dominus _Kelly."

There was a rumbling sound that resembled coughing from the stone and a large metal disc was spat out onto Harry's hand before the dragon resumed its original immobile state. The teenager blinked, before chuckling at his own stunned expression as he slipped past the Gate, which had swung open a meter to admit him.

The air within seemed even fresher, although Harry attributed it to his own excitement which bubbled like a merry brook that threatened to flood its banks. Green hills and pastures unfolded before him, stretching into the distance with no clear end in sight although mountains formed a formidable bracket at the far end. A cluster of tents stood off to the side but verdant eyes were more preoccupied with seeking out the majestic figures that soared the sky in lazy dominance.

It was manifested perfection. It really was. And it made Harry grin because it tugged strongly at a heartstring and allowed warmth to blossom and grow in his chest. This, Harry wondered, felt strangely and inexplicably like a sort of homecoming. He could spend an eternity here, where neither want nor whim would go unfulfilled.

There was no war here, no nightmares, no murders or tortures and no rampaging idiots with egos too large for the continent to contain. There was only Nature and Her children here; magic in its purest sense, and Harry would give his life without a moment's hesitation just to keep it that way.

* * *

_Reprobate at the Gate_

_Draconis_ _Dominus _Edward Kelly rifled through the papers, which contained Potter's OWLs, NEWTs, teacher references, peer evaluations and whatnot. They were formal requirements for the job since people were expecting some modicum of intelligence from those handling dragons, which were dangerous creatures who supposedly do not take very well to idiocy when it came to their wellbeing.

However, not every single graduate in their midst were the valedictorians and Head Boys in their year. If memory served him well, Edward was sure that he had accepted an American Witch who had never made it past high school just a couple of years back. To put it plainly, dragon handling required more than just book smarts, which was probably the only thing testing grades could prove.

The real test, however, had yet to be taken. Few made it through the first week of training.

It was interesting, though, that the young man that sat before him was the Boy-Who-Lived; The boy who had the British wizarding community searching high and low for him a decade or so ago. Some thought him dead, others thought he would turn up some day like a knight in shining armour and off their dark lord like he was born to do so, and others simply shrugged their shoulders and went about their daily lives as the attacks grew in quantity and frequency.

Yes, Edward mused with a hint of a smile on his lips, Britain would definitely object to their boy hero working in the midst of dangerous creatures and so far away from them. They would object to his disappearance ten years ago, and they would object to his alternate schooling. Hell, they would object to the boy himself if they found reason enough to.

Edward wondered if Potter was even aware of the perceived significance of his own existence.

Then again, as an American and as the overseeing _Dominus _of the Romanian Dragons' Gate, it was quite simply none of his damned business.

Glancing up from the more-than-adequate NEWT scores, Edward eyed the young man seated before him. He looked strong, powerful and comfortable in his own skin. Though perhaps he had to be if he had achieved the _Dominus status _before graduation.

The title was something that was never given lightly since creatures rarely submitted themselves wholly to a human and many never achieve it in their lifetime. Some argue that it is all a matter of luck or chance to prove their worthiness, but being a _Dominus _himself, Kelly knew better than that. The title was only granted by the creatures when the _human_ first submitted to the creature. There was inexplicable trust involved, aptitude and a deep understanding between them.

It required respect.

"These," he told the teenager with a quiet smile, "would more than suffice."

"Oh," Harry blinked, straightening in his seat as he fought down a blush. His mind had wandered while the _Draconian Dominus _leafed through his portfolio as he was obviously not someone who took well to sitting around and waiting. "Thank you."

Edward chuckled and stood, slipping the papers back into the folder before heading towards the opening of the tent and indicating that the youth should follow him. In his hand he held the disc that the marbled dragon had given Potter, magically punching a hole near the perimeter of it and looping a leather thong through it.

They walked in silence, although the emerald-eyed teen had trouble taking in all the sights in his veiled excitement. It made Edward smile, although he said nothing on the subject, because it spoke of a love that Potter had for his chosen career. It was pleasing and a little heart-warming if he were to admit to it.

Reaching the nursery within the half hour, Edward glanced at the teenager who had hardly broken out into a sweat and nodded with silent approval. It had been some time since he had seen a graduate from The Academy, but it looked like their standards had not fallen in the years.

He handed the teen the necklace and told him to tie it around his neck until they got round to making his formal identification.

"Inside this tent you will find a number of dragon handlers who work around the nursery. They will be assessing your performance and reporting of it directly to me. As of now, you are considered a 'trainee'," Edward paused and drew a gaze along the length of Potter's lithe figure. "Although I fully expect you to rise through our ranks rapidly, _Dominus _Potter."

"Yes, _Dominus,_" the teen murmured with quiet acquiescence, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips before it turned sheepish and he averted his gaze. "Although, please do not tell them about my title."

"As you wish it," Edward shrugged carelessly, the aged wizard having never intended to do so. The answering grin caused his lips to quirk upwards, unbidden, as he reached out to place a hand on a shoulder. "You will find, Potter, that few really care about such formalities here. What matters are the dragons and each handler's ability to handle their tasks."

"It is _exactly _as I wish it," the Boy-Who-Lived agreed fervently, enchantingly green eyes alit with an emotion that Edward would identify with passion.

He would fit right in then.

* * *

_Beauty of the Beasts_

He was sprawled atop a rock, gaze locked upon a dragon in flight above him as dark strands of hair threatened to slip from the hold of the band that held them in place. He had divested himself of his shirt due to the heat and the position he was in placed a lightly muscled chest with a beautiful tan on display for anyone who had the luck to pass him by.

Unrestrained laughter rang out like wind chime in a summer breeze as the Scottish Hornback landed a few paces ahead of him, its formidable neck swinging downward to nudge him in the face with its snout in a show of open affection.

It was an amazing sight to behold, one that made breaths catch in throats, hearts to flutter wildly in chests and eyes to widen to impossible dimensions in half fear and half awe.

But fear did not seem to belong in the man's dictionary as he threw his arms around the horned neck without prohibition and smacked a kiss atop the beautiful scales before scooting back on the rock and allowing the draconian beauty to rest its head on the rock. It was as though they were communicating, albeit silently since there was no audible noise from either beast or man.

There they sat for hours on end, until the sun sank behind the mountains and the Hornback raised itself off the rock and off the ground, soaring towards its nesting mate and leaving the dark-haired figure smiling from where he sat.

It was a scene out of a fairytale; a picture that could not be captured on canvas.

Charlie Weasley had no qualms of telling the other handler so.

He had not been at work very often these couple of weeks as the war in Britain escalated and a younger sibling had gotten injured in a death eater raid. Hence nothing, not even the stories of a gifted trainee, had prepared him for the face that turned towards him as he approached.

The other man was stunning, his lithe body half-exposed as it was. Ebony-hued hair, stringy from a day spent in the sun, had come unbound some hours ago and it framed a verdant gaze that seemed to stare straight into his soul as Charlie gasped.

_No, it could not be…_

* * *

  
TBC.


	2. Chapter 2

Standard disclaimers apply.

Chapter rating: M/R

Author's note: Thank you for the greatly appreciated reviews, alerts and favourites. You're all made of wonderful and win. And my Beta, PegasusChained, is so wonderfully perfect that rainbows shine out her ass :D

* * *

**Draconis Dominus**

_Way of the Dominus, a letter from Jeremy Miles to Harry Potter_

The title of a _Dominus_ is a hard-earned one, with multiple levels of tests to pass. Schools and education systems may implement written tests and practical tasks but in the end, the honour and responsibility can only be bestowed upon an individual by the creatures themselves.

The titles leading up to that of a _Dominus_ are as follows: _Instructus, Summitto alumno_, _Superus alumno, Summitto auxilium, Superus auxilium,_ _Summitto agnitio, Superus agnitio and Vinco. _

Most cease to advance at Higher Intermediate (_Summitto Auxilium)_, a respectable but common landing ground. For the hard-working, an _Agnitio_ title is not impossible but to venture further than that, one would have to be blessed by magic, by luck, by personal fortitude and a myriad of other qualities.

I will not hide things from you, my little one. We, as your teachers and guides, have high hopes for you and your classmates. Not because of who you are to wizarding England but because of the sheer talent you have displayed out on the fields and in the classrooms.

You are young and therefore lively, I will not try to restrain you unless my responsibilities demand of it. But remember this: Talent aside, hard work and an open heart is of essence if you want to go far in your field of study. Yes, I am saying this because of your recent decision to declare a prank war on the upper years but it would hold true no matter the reason I have for writing this.

Harry, a _Dominus _requires a willing sacrifice from a creature -- a dragon in your case -- to be given to you. But because of this sacrifice, the title comes with a debt. It will be on your conscience to serve these creatures for the remainder of your life. I know you love your dragons, child, and that you have declared that you will earn your _dominus _title before you turn 20. You have eight years before that deadline and already you are just shy of earning your first _auxilium_ title.

You love dragons and they seem pretty fond of you in turn. But with power comes responsibility and I hope that you would be able to carry this responsibility with grace and skill because there is no doubt in my head that what you set out to do, you will get done.

With all my love,

Jeremy

* * *

_The Boy Who Lived To See Another Day_

_... furious with his Death Eaters over something -- quite likely the foiled attack on the Bones family -- for which Snape and Rowley got the brunt of. I doubt either man will be on their feet for quite some time. _

_More importantly though, is that the Dark Wizard has issued plans for Malfoy Sr. to bring several more Dark sympathizers into the Ministry of Magic. Of the names being bandied around are Jack Ripper, Cassidy Harvey and Edward Silkes. I have a hunch that this has something to do with the upcoming elections._

_No further attacks were planned, though it would probably be a good idea for the Bones family to continue to lay low for a bit. We all know Voldemort has some serious ego-centric issues._

_Rgds,_

_H. _

With the last flourish done, the quill was laid aside and Harry slouched in his seat until his derrière came to rest at the edge of the chair. He pressed the heel of his palms against tired eyes and rubbed sleepily at them, almost as though the shades of purple and black encircling his eyes was ink that could be wiped away. A sigh escaped parted lips as the young man stared blankly at the drying ink, wondering -- not for the first time -- if his letters to Head Auror Shacklebolt were of any use whatsoever.

Still, it cost him less than a sickle for the parchment, and potentially saved the lives of others. It made perfect business sense as Jeremy had put it the first time Harry had voiced his doubts aloud. Standing, the young dragon handler rolled the missive up and tied it shut with a muttered spell and a length of red ribbon before leaving it in the talons of his trusty owl which took off into the sky without delay, headed straight for England.

The sun would be rising soon and the brunette had relinquished what tenuous hold he had on Morpheus' robes the moment he escaped the clutches of his latest vision. So with a last, longing look at his rumpled bed, Harry pulled off his nightshirt and got dressed, tidying his small tent with a wave of his wand even as he hopped on one leg and tugged on his left boot.

Had anyone been around the trainees' tents just before the break of dawn, they would have witnessed the ungracious tumble the Boy-Who-Lived took as he literally fell out of his tent with a loud squawk. But as it were, no one was around and the green-eyed teenager could only groan and slumped back against the damp grass, his boot still safely ensconced in the warmth of his temporary abode.

It was, Harry mused to himself, a good thing Jeremy was not around to witness this. The man had a ten-foot list of blackmail material as it were. But still, the sunrise was very pretty.

* * *

_Morning Monsters_

Charlie did not look up as the flap to the cafeteria tent was lifted, too intent on finishing the life-giving sustenance he was currently guzzling down. He could not live without it and his colleagues would not tolerate him without it. Hence, it was an essential part of his morning ablutions that made him the jovial and friendly person he was an hour after he stumbled out of bed. The thick, aromatic liquid trickled down his throat in a steady stream, going untasted and unsavoured. No matter to it, though. There was always time for another cup of coffee.

First, he had to wait for the caffeine from the first three he had imbibed to kick in.

His forehead hit the table with a loud thunk as lids slipped shut over dazed cerulean orbs and a chuckle from the vague direction of the right did nothing to faze him. Charlie was at his most vulnerable point in the day and his friends were not above taking a good laugh at his expense. It was all part of community living and he had accepted it as a youth living with six siblings and then as a man living with twenty other adults.

When the redhead finally did lift his abused forehead off the wooden surface, he stiffened and swallowed the mock growl he had been about to issue. There was a loud pounding in his ears -- an unbidden increase in the rate of his heartbeats, Charlie realised belatedly as his forehead creased in a frown.

Sipping from a steaming mug with a bright twinkle in his eyes was Harry Potter, the stuff of legends, whose history was his sister's favourite bedtime story.

Charlie had seen the dark-haired man working in adjacent fields to his, listened to his colleagues praise his talents with dragons to the high heavens and even participated in making lewd jokes about the captivating youth. But he had not traded more than five sentences with the trainee for the three months he had been there. Put plainly, the wizard had been avoiding his fellow countryman, though it was something he would deny in the face of questioning.

"Good morning," Harry greeted him pleasantly, turning to place his mug into the sink. When the sink grabbed a hold of the porcelain and started to clean it of its accord, he turned back to face the older dragon handler with a smile and the beginning of a conversation on his tongue.

But the Weasley stood, leaving his mug on the table as he brushed past the surprised wizard who moved swiftly out of his path. Had Charlie looked back, he might have identified a flash of hurt on a tanned face before Harry ducked his head and retrieved his mug. As it were, the redhead left and never looked back till he was safe in the pen of two fire-spitting adolescent Chinese Fireballs.

On the other hand, the _Draconis_ snarled to an empty tent, good mood forgotten.

* * *

_Dragon Kisses_

Having dragon flames breathed on you hurt like a bitch, a severe understatement to be sure.

Which is why it was with disbelieving eyes that the crowd of twenty dragon handlers watched as a slight figure climbed from the back of a Horntail. His hair was singed, half an eyebrow burned off along with a good portion of his shirt. There was a smell of charred flesh that was enough to make a strong stomache roil.

Yet the figure stood tall, and a hand -- the one not burnt -- reached up to tap the dragon sharply on her nose.

"I told you not to look back, you silly beast," he admonished, a generous amount of exasperation lacing his tone. "Now see, I have fixed your wound and you have barbequed me to crisp! Is this how you repay me?"

The Horntail merely huffed a puff of fire at her healer, who batted it away with a short spell, and straightened her neck. She spread her wings, and rumbled low in her throat as she flung herself into the air in a picture of majesty, the mere mortal on the ground hardly worth her attention.

"Idiot," grumbled Harry, whose verdant orbs were now clouded with pain. The youth set himself down rather heavily on the grass with a wince and began summoning potions from his tent. First a stasis charm was cast, followed by a cooling charm and reparation charm in rapid succession. It took five minutes for a glass vial and a small clay pot to arrive, during which the dark-haired youth had fixed his hair and regulated his breathing.

He downed the red viscous liquid in the vial -- a strong pain-killing potion -- before rubbing a generous amount of white paste from the pot into the darkened, raw flesh of his shoulder and arm. The trainee either did not notice his audience or did not care, but when he finally finished off with the paste and banished the items back to his tent, only a single pair of eyes remained watching him.

"Does it hurt?" Edward Kelly asked, as the young wizard approached him with calm, even steps. There was no genuine concern in the _Dominus' _tone but his newest employee gave it no thought.

"Love always does."

* * *

_Moving to the music_

Cool liquid burned its way down his throat, as Harry closed his eyes, relishing the sensation of his first alcoholic drink in months. It was his first break off work since he had joined the dragon reserve and, if he did say so himself, he had totally earned it.

"So how does it feel?"

"Mm... Liquid fire. Always loved it."

"Idiot," Enya laughed, slipping a slender arm around her best friend's waist, body moving to the beat of the music. "I meant how does it feel finally being an official dragon handler?"

"Good." Harry responded with a grin, leaning in to speak by her ear so that he did not have to shout above the din. "Like I grew a foot and gained larger biceps."

Around them, the crowd was certainly having a good time. Even off the dance floor, people were moving to the beat as they called for more jugs of beer and rounds of shots. The rest of their classmates had deserted them in favour of stealing the limelight on the dance floor while Harry and Enya relaxed against the bar to play a little catch up. All his short, insignificant life, Enya had been the Boy-Who-Lived's source of comfort when he could not speak with Jeremy. She kept him grounded and in turn, he got to know far more about females than he could ever wish to know from the cheerful but slightly insane brunette. As best friends, they barely communicated if they were out of sight, although were rarely out of each other's thoughts. Or so they liked to say.

The pair had shared many firsts, including the first time they kissed, made out, had sex and more innocently, flew on a broom. She was the first he had confided in about his visions, although it was the rest of the boys that bore the brunt of his screaming at night. He was the first person she had run to when she started menstruating, although she lived in a room with four other girls. She was the first who knew of his sort-of-but-not-quite crush on Jeremy and by proxy about his preference of the male gender, while he was the first she dragged out to check out a muggle club that incidentally earned them a week in solitary confinement.

Despite the horrific week they spent "reflecting on their misdeed", there was always something about muggle clubs that allowed them to let their hair down away from school and the multitude of responsibilities it came with. And it was something they eventually shared with the rest of their peers in school nearing the middle of their last year in school.

Muggle clubs were often their chosen destination when one of their number was close to a nervous breakdown, or when it was someone's birthday, or when someone landed a job, or simply when they came up with enough of an excuse to gather themselves together to get rip-roaring drunk. Harry earning his right to be a dragon handler certainly was occasion enough.

Letting the beer and vodka work its own little magic on him, Harry now stole Enya's half-full glass from her and proceeded to drag her willing self towards the dance floor and the madly gyrating mass of bodies that came with it. They reunited themselves with their classmates and hip-grinded, booty-shaked and chest-thrust their way through next song or eight.

Familiar faces caught Harry's rather unfocused gaze even as he pressed himself up against Leonard who fairly rutted back in return. What were the chances of his fellow dragon handlers taking the night off in the same club as him?

"Rather high, H.J.P," Leonard yelled back over the noise. "It's a mighty small town you have here."

Laughing, if only because he had not realised he had voiced his question loud enough to be heard, Harry shook his head and turned his attention back to his dance partners. Maybe he would go say hi later.

* * *

_Heated confrontations_

"What is your problem, Weasley?" The brunette snarled, emerald-hued eyes blazing fiercely and a tad bit too brightly as he pinned his colleague to the wall, a knee raised threateningly to crotch-level. With his hair raked back and held in place by perspiration, Harry's famous lightning bolt scar was on display for the world to see.

Except that no one was around the back alley to see him in his gloriously furious, inebriated state.

No one but Charlie Weasley.

The redhead's usual powder blue eyes were glazed over by alcohol and indignance at being manhandled so roughly by someone who was a fraction of his size. He was panting heavily, heart racing as it tended to do so whenever he was within seeing distance of the younger man.

"Who says I have a problem?" He responded lowly, staring back into fierce green orbs despite feeling as though his knees might give out. Not wanting that knee anywhere near his family jewels, however, Charlie placed his hands rather heavily on Harry's shoulders and attempted to pry him off.

The lithe man was stronger than his slender body announced, though, and Charlie's strength almost always failed him after he had been at the bottles. In his defense, anyone else would have found themselves horizontal after imbibing several bottles of odd, unnamed alcoholic drinks like he had.

"Oh, I suppose hostile glares, the inability to stay within a twenty-metre radius -- much less in the same room -- as me, the veiled insults and the direct ones behind my back all indicate that you do not have a problem with me."

"Well, if you were referring to _that_ problem, why bother asking when you already know about it?" Charlie snarked, an unbecoming sneer on his tanned features.

All he had wanted was to have a night off with his buddies, get a little drunk and perhaps find someone to spend the night with. Then the devastatingly dashing Harry Potter just had to come up and take a leak on his parade simply by stopping at their table to greet his seniors with bright eyes, flushed cheeks and that charming smile of his. Charlie had promptly finished his shot and left the table.

"Why am I a problem?" Harry rephrased, tightening his hold on Charlie's shirt as he growled low in his throat. "What have I done to you that is making you dislike me?"

Silence filled the spaces that tension could not cover as the taller of the two merely returned the glare, not quite knowing what to say and not quite knowing that he was not responding. Instead, his gaze slipped lower and fastened itself on Harry's lips, which were almost white from anger. A bead of perspiration clung to the tip of his nose and Charlie swallowed, brain finally registering how close he was to the young wizard he had been trying to avoid for half a year now.

"We've been looking for you," he finally rasped out, pulling his gaze back up to meet the smouldering gaze of the young dragon handler. "But you disappeared. Kidnapped? Dead? No one knew where the hell you were, Harry Potter. A war is being waged in your hometown, in case you did not know. But of course you know since we're still receiving those bloody letters from you about your visions. Yet you're still here in the reserve. Safe and sound in hiding while others are out there risking their lives for a war that you could have made a difference in.

"Oh, I know you're still young and no one should be telling a boy to fight their wars. But those letters, Potter, useful as they may be, do not make up for a lack of presence. And I can't even tell them I know where you are because Kelly has decided that it is not my business to inform them and you know what, little Harry Potter? I goddamn fucking _hate _lying to my family."

He was prepared to go on, his little tirade not finished even though the logical part of his brain that had drowned under absinthe was making strange gurgling noises in an attempt to remind him that that was not quite why he had a problem with Harry James Potter.

He was _not _prepared for the hot, demanding lips that crashed against his own. Nor was he prepared for the wet tongue that mapped out his lips and slipped into the damp cavern of his mouth to press against his own. The knee that had threatened to bring him to his knees in pain had swiftly turned into a convenient hard object he could press his growing erection against in shameless frottage.

There were no second thoughts about returning the unexpected kiss, a wave of lust having consumed him so utterly Charlie had ceased to function on all levels except on the one that had him sliding his hands into damp ebony locks in an attempt to bring the smaller wizard closer to him.

Deprived too long of oxygen, they broke apart briefly and Charlie smacked his head against the wall with a wince before his head was tugged forward and his lips recaptured. The knee was dropped and with both feet planted firmly on the ground, Harry stood in between the redhead's parted legs and leaned him against the wall to continue his plundering.

It might have been minutes, but it seemed like seconds and far too soon for it to be over when the brunette pulled sharply away, releasing Charlie's lips with loud pop. His lips were now bruised red and shone with mingled saliva as he panted heavily, fingers still curled into the creased fabric of the other man's shirt.

Dazed blue met smoldering verdant as Harry shook his head in an attempt to dislodge whatever crazed thought had overcome him when he assaulted the Weasley that had, just minutes before, been blaming him for living his life the way he had.

"Fuck you," he murmured quietly, the words traveling the few centimetres that separated them with no trouble whatsoever. Fingers went limp, falling from where it was twined into midnight strands as Harry Potter stepped away and stumbled back into the club, leaving Charlie to collapse heavily into a breathless heap on the dusty floor.

* * *

_Warm milk and oatmeal cookies_

When he was still a child reeling from the rough upbringing he had been subjected to, Harry Potter had been skittish and hard to be around. He tended to prefer dark corners and quiet spaces where he could be alone and apart from anyone who could potentially hurt him.

Only Jeremy was allowed near him, to cajole him out to meet new people and to make new friends with the children of his age. At night, when nightmares or visions had him throwing up silencing charms wandlessly and subconsciously as he screamed his throat raw, his angel would come flying into his bedroom to comfort him and keep him safe. Even when he was 17 and about to graduate from the academy, those baby-monitoring spells had not been taken down.

Sometimes when sleep eluded him, Jeremy would bring a tray of warm milk and oatmeal cookies into his room where he would be doing homework or reading a book of some sorts while waiting for Morpheus to pay a visit to him. Morpheus, young Harry had thought, must have been a good friend of his angel's because the God of Dreams would drop by not minutes after he had drank his warm milk and eaten his cookies. At the age of 14, years after he first detected the mild sleeping draught, Harry still allowed his angel to drug him to his eyeballs to get him to go to sleep.

Food had also been a problem. The young wizard had grown up denied of almost all things sweet. No candies, no snacks and no tidbits like chips or chocolates. Filling meals were few and far between and were mostly made up of carbohydrates or fibre but never at the same time. Meat tasted strange to him and so did cream. So Jeremy toasted some bread, sprinkled mozzeralla cheese and tomatos onto it and popped it into the oven. Lettuce followed and so did bits of meat and several vials of nutrition potions. But it was only when he was 12 that Enya introduced him to the wonders of rice that tasted wonderful cooked without being too flavour-packed. It went with almost every other condiment or dish but he loved it best with cheese.

Coming out of his shell took a lot of courage on Harry's part but double the amount of patience on everyone else's. From the headmistress, to the older students and the rest of the staff and his classmates, they made sure that they did little to frighten the timid child. But Jeremy went ahead and took the lad to the dragon pens, filled with live fire-breathing scaled creatures that could send other children screaming in the other direction. And all little Harry did was to place a small palm on the nose of a young Scottish Spike-tailed and start hissing at the reptile. Jeremy had laughed and it was that that made 10-year-old Harry Potter announce to the entire school that he would become a _Draconis Dominus_ by the age of 20, even if it killed him to do so.

For the first seven years of his life, Harry Potter may have been neglected and deprived of almost all things happy children should be privy to. But he made no complaints of it because the following ten more than made up for it. Jeremy was an excellent parent and role model. His classmates were understanding and knew how to get him to have fun. His best friend, girl though she may be, knew how to preempt his thoughts and actions and was sometimes far more the mature one of the pair. He had grown up healthy and grown up well because of the people around him.

He would be damned if he let anyone else take them away from him.

He would be damned if he let anyone else tell him that his life should not have been led the way it had.

Damned, damned and damned to the seventh level of hell.


	3. Chapter 3

Standard disclaimers apply.

Chapter rating: G

* * *

_Monogrammed invitations_

Green fire clashed mercilessly with cool periwinkle blue as a certain sable-haired wizard stared down his companion into glancing away. Hardly a friendly conversation had passed between the two since the beginning of their terse acquaintance, although a distant but efficient working relationship had been established. The shared drunken, heated kiss of once upon a time had faded from the forefront of their minds as time passed and they established an odd sort of tolerance between them. Heavy glances were exchanged, and touches lingered subconsciously for moments too long. But they neither acknowledged nor commented upon each moment of interaction.

The tension, as it were, was thick enough to require more than the sharpest of blades to slice.

Inevitably, sparks flew between the two at times. But an actual fire had yet to break out. An ongoing betting pool had been established amongst their colleagues as to when an explosion would come to pass.

Harry rather thought it might happen soon, with the infuriating redheaded rogue sitting across from him, as cool as a cucumber even after rudely interrupting his otherwise peaceful mid-day meal with the delivery of an utterly blasé suggestion.

"Why would I want to do that?" He demanded stonily, with a hint of incredulity colouring his tone.

"Why wouldn't you?" Charlie promptly countered. "What have you got to lose?"

Plenty of things, Harry wanted to tell him. The first of which would be his composure. Visiting England had never made it onto his to do list. It had never even come close. If anything, it had been intentionally left out. He had no good memories of what little he had seen of the country, especially considering that he had been cooped up in 4 Privet Drive for a good deal of that time. That Voldemort was currently traipsing around the place as though he owned it did little to encourage him to make a trip to good old Britain.

"Look," Charlie said heavily, leaning forward on his forearms, which were pressed onto the cafeteria table. "I'm not asking you to charge into battle. I'm not even asking you to get involved in the war. All I'm asking is that you accompany me back home and take a look around. Do some sight-seeing and see more of the land that you hail from. Think of it as a date of sorts, if you will."

Harry continued to stare blankly back at him, wondering idly how Charlie managed to snag the dubious accolade of being the Don Juan of the dragon reserve if this was how he usually operated.

"You could even go in disguise if you wanted," the redhead continued, pressing on despite Harry's stony silence, his gaze having deepened in intensity as he tried to persuade the younger man into agreeing. Or saying _something_ at the very least. "You don't even _sound_ British any more; it'd be pretty easy to pass you off as a non local."

Except that really, at this point in time, tourists to wizarding England were few and far between.

"Please."

At this, the young dragon keeper started and blinked at his colleague in clear surprise. Hot headed, stubborn and _proud_ Charlie Weasley had requested, cajoled and was now – dare he say it – begging him to take a holiday to London. Astounding.

"Why?" Harry finally asked, his voice cracking slightly as verdant orbs reassessed the man seated across from him.

But it seemed that the reason behind the request was not one easily voiced and Charlie shrugged helplessly as he scrambled to think of a reason enticing or innocent enough for the Boy-Who-Lived-and-Ran.

"It's your country," he finally said even as he hid a wince, the reason falling limp even to his own ears.

Shaking his head slowly, an odd expression on his face, Harry carefully pushed his seat back and stood, his half-eaten food tray already banished to the kitchen out back. For a few moments he merely stood there, gaze locked once more with the infuriating redhead. To an onlooker with an active imagination, it would seem as though they were communicating without verbalizing their thoughts. In fact, however, neither knew what to make out of the other.

His breath hitched and his heart pounded but no words were uttered.

"It's _not_ my country," Harry renounced with stern finality before promptly turning and fleeing, long strides leaving behind an uncharacteristically sullen dragon keeper.

* * *

_Fear in a bottle_

In Italy's shopping district, one had to be careful of overhead fliers on broomsticks and carpets as they tended to swerve in random directions without any notice. On his first visit, one such flier had swiped Harry's new pointed hat right off his head with a loud whoop. The rider – a young, punkish teenager – had crowed victoriously before promptly crashing into a family of five who were perched precariously onto a lengthened broomstick and thus could not maneuver out of his way in time. Harry never got his shiny, pointed hat back.

Kyoto's street life was a lot more sedated in comparison, but nevertheless had a constant bustle about the place that one would associate with city life. This began at seven in the morning and persisted until past midnight despite the small magical population. Hokkaido on the other hand, somehow maintained a peaceful tranquility at all hours of the day, broken only occasionally by market vendors and sporadic groups of rowdy school children; Perfect for meditation and dragon-watching.

London wizards and witches moved in groups, sometimes in pairs but mostly in teams of four or more and never alone. There were no children about, and though the occasional sounds of conversation drifted through the air, a distinct lack of raucous laughter and noise one would expect in a city shopping district permeated the air.

Disturbed, Harry wondered if Diagon Alley had always been such a desolate picture.

To describe the place as 'deserted' would be an exaggeration for there were signs of life and human activity. But a muted quality to what he was sure was once a thriving place of commerce permeated the air. Wary glances were darted about, several of which were drawn to the Harry's lone figure. Noticing this, the dragon keeper gathered the grey material of his robes in one hand and quickly stepped into a store and out of their line of sight, his breath quickening although he had done no wrong.

This, Harry realised, was perhaps what Charlie Weasley had invited him to see; A nation of people once so proud now living in fear and wariness for their well-being.

"Welcome to Flourish and Blotts. Can I help you, young man?" The shop keeper asked, interrupting the turning of his mental cogs. Wizened grey eyes were overtly assessing the dazed wizard in front of him, immediately noting his rapid breathing and the fact that he had entered alone.

"Oh. Uhm. Yes," Harry stammered, releasing the grip he had on his robes as he sought to bring his racing thoughts to heel. A quick glace around told him that he had stumbled into a book shop and he subconsciously reached an unconscious hand up to flatten his fringe against his forehead. "I'm looking for a book… on dragons and reptiles."

"Fiction or non-fiction?"

"Non-fiction."

"Hmm," the older wizard hummed, the sound slightly muffled by his thick beard. There was no hesitation in his shuffling steps as he headed towards a shelf in the middle of the store and began rifling through its contents. After a while, he began pulling out books. Big ones, small ones, thick ones and thin ones. Ones that made noise and ones that ruffled their pages with small puffs of smoke. Ones that made Harry's brow arch at the quality of the dragonhide cover and ones that looked like they were about to fall apart with a single flip of the page. Ones that…

"I think that's enough, sir?" The dark-haired wizard asked, although he could have been saying 'Pop the potatoes out of the oven, dear' for all the shopkeeper knew, considering that a particularly thick book had found stability against Harry's lips and the pile in his arms stacked precariously past his head.

Shrugging, the shopkeeper made his way back to the till, nonchalantly ignoring Harry who stumbled as carefully as he could towards the counter. It was what young people got for being so entirely vague on their requests, Old Flourish thought with a good deal amount of satisfaction. Consider it his entertainment for the day.

"What are you doing alone on the streets?" He finally asked, dredging up a semi-interested expression as his lone customer sorted through the pile of books with a keener eye than expected. "It's against ministry regulations."

The blank look he received in return drew Flourish's brows into an attempt to disappear into his receding hairline.

"I'm not from around here," Harry finally replied, frowning as he fingered the leather cover of one of the books. This went a long way in explaining the unfamiliar accent and the foreign style of his high-necked robes. And his utterly clueless expression.

Bending, Flourish sifted through a pile of papers on the shelf below the counter desk, pulling out a slightly crinkled parchment with a notice printed on it. Waving it at the ignorant tourist, he quoted from memory: "No wizard or witch is to travel around alone. No wizard or witch is to remain outdoors past ten o' clock at night. No wizard or witch is to wear black hooded cloaks. No wizard or witch is to wander outside of their homes without their wands. No wizard or witch below the age of thirteen is to wander outside of their homes without adult supervision regardless of how big their group is. Adult supervision refers to qualified wizards or witches above the age of seventeen. Unqualified wizards or witches are to be considered adults only after the age of twenty."

"Impressive memory," Harry remarked nonchalantly, his lips curling in an amused smile although his thoughts were moving haphazardly at a mile a second. "I suppose I probably should head off if I'm running the risk of getting into trouble." The presence of any form of law-enforcement demanding to see identification was the absolute last thing Harry wanted. "Please keep the change."

Grabbing three leather bound books that looked promisingly educational from the stack of thirty-odd pulled from the shelf, Harry tossed three gold pieces onto the counter and disapparated with a small pop.

"Ah," Flourish told the recently-occupied space. "No wizard or witch is to apparate from non-specified apparation points unless in an emergency."

Then, as the old wizard glanced down at the gold pieces on his counter, he swore colourfully with such creativity that would make parents clap their hands about their children's' ears. "No foreign currency of any kind will be accepted in Flourish & Blotts!"

* * *

_Fulfilled expectations_

Clammy fingers were surreptiously curled around the fabric of Charlie's sleeve as verdant orbs regarded the ominous-looking door with no small amount of trepidation. The redhead paid it no mind as he rapped sharply on the door to Grimmauld Place. He spared the man by his side a glance only when the door locks were turned and was met with a stoic mask that could have been chiseled from stone for all anyone else knew. The tautness of his sleeve, however, belied the presence of a riot of emotions beneath the hard façade.

It was such evidence of human frailty that made periwinkle eyes soften as he considered the profile of the one whom many hailed as the Boy-Who-Lived. Over the months of their rocky acquaintance, Charlie had come to the admittedly slow realisation that the figure that had seemed larger than life not too long ago was really only a dragon-obsessed youth searching for his place on this earth just like every other wizard.

Ginny Weasley peered around the door, almost recoiling as when a strange man came into view first. But she grinned widely and threw the door open the rest of the way when she caught sight of his companion, unabashedly flinging herself at one of her many older siblings she hardly got a chance to see. Charlie blinked, startled out of his Harry-induced reverie as his arms automatically came up to hug his sister.

Fingers loosened and fell from their hold in well-worn fabric, curling subconsciously into a fist by Harry's side. Already, an irrational feeling in his gut told him that he would not like what lay beyond that darkened doorway. But unwanted warmth curled and roiled around his chest as images of family and welcome were conjured by his traitorous mind. So he stood and silently observed Charlie's obvious affection for his younger sister.

* * *

_Some souls cannot be caged_

"Coming here was a mistake," Harry stated, his voice tinged with unmistakable regret although a steely resolve boldly underlined it. Bright eyes bore into Dumbledore's as he spoke, but it was Charlie who shuddered with a chill that marked a swift passage up his spine, echoing his colleague's regret as he ignored the curious glances of his family and slouched in his seat.

One by one, Harry met the gazes of the Order members, very much aware of more than a dozen wands being pointed upon his person. Yet he stood there with an odd calm, fingers casually twirling his wand in a way that made Mad-Eye Moody disapprove for several reasons. Molly Weasley shivered as a disappointed gaze swept past her and Kingsley Shacklebolt found himself re-thinking the claimed necessity of his leader's orders. For a moment. Didelus Diggle merely stood there gaping, not really thinking, and fumbled with his wand when Harry took a step towards the semi-circle of wizards in front of him. The unseen little devil on Harry's left shoulder sneered disdainfully at such an obvious show of cowardice.

"You leaving Britain was a mistake," the wizened Hogwarts headmaster countered in a tone so gentle, he might as well have been trying to calm a raging dragon. With little success. Unlike the rest of the room's occupants, barring Charlie, Dumbledore did not have his wand at hand, and for some reason this display of complacency irked the raven-haired man to no end. Harry's wand stopped mid-spin and wood slapped against flesh as he caught his trusty wand in a lose grip and stood visibly straighter while tripe continued to trip off that accursed tongue. "Kidnapped at a young age, I'm sure you don't realise this."

"On the contrary," Harry replied, voice deceptively even although his eyes narrowed visibly at the wizard who had abandoned him to the mercy of the Dursleys after the death of his parents. "Being removed from my blood relatives' care was the best thing that could have happened to me. Being not quite such a young child as I was then, I believe I'm more than qualified to hold that opinion. Stockholm Syndrome, I assure you, does not apply in this instance."

Clearly many in the room disagreed, as several scoffs were heard. Some were more noticeable than the others and Harry noted the dark, angry gaze of a pallid and sullen man that stood somewhere to his right. Unconcealed dislike lurked in that gaze and the Boy-Who-Lived returned it with his first open glare of the evening.

"Regardless," Dumbledore inserted, drawing both dark gazes back towards him. "It's about time you returned home. I, for one, am relieved and happy to welcome you back. I will have it seen to and you'll be settled comfortably in no time."

"I need no settling, sir," the younger wizard said with forced politeness before jerking his head towards the numerous wands directed at him. "I already have a place of my own and this welcome isn't in any way going to persuade me to think otherwise."

Several wands were lowered instantly, although Harry's own remained where it was.

"I'm afraid I cannot let you leave us again, dear boy."

"Who are you to decide that for me?" A sharp voice retorted even as a brow was arched in a display of incredulity and disbelief. "And how else am I suppose to return _home_ if I can't leave?"

"What makes you think you _can_ leave?" Snape's responded silkily, the hint of a sneer so carefully pronounced that the potions master must have spent hours practicing it to perfection. No insults were verbalized. Indeed, none were needed; he had made it perfectly clear what little he thought of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Tilting his head to the side, Harry let his fringe fall over his forehead before brushing it to the side to reveal his famous scar. Feet moved soundlessly on the cool marbled floor as he shifted his stance almost imperceptibly. His legs stood a shoulder's width apart, knees bent with his torso leaning forward by just that slight degree. The wand twirling resumed and the young dragon keeper gave a careless shrug with mock concern finding its place on his handsome features.

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed as he caught the emphasis of the young Saviour's words and Moody's fake eye swiveled in its socket, the basic fighting stance having been taken note of even before it was fully assumed. Frowns were aplenty on the faces scattered about the room, most of them not fully aware of the undercurrents of power plays being made before them.

Harry smirked.

A quick slash of a dark wand followed a swift sketch of a rune in mid-air. Moody reacted on his good leg and surged forward even as Kingsley and Snape raised their wands with incantations already spilling from their lips. Dumbledore's wand slipped from its place into his waiting hand and Charlie rose from his seat.

That could only get that far.

A bright light flared and a lout sharp _crack_ resounded across the room, instantly drowned out by the shouts and panicked cries of the room's occupants. When the light had disappeared, and the bright spots beneath their eyes had faded away, all that remained of the Boy-Who-Lived was a memory of those bright but disdainful eyes.

* * *

_Keener minds know better_ (A dedication to Kim)

Her scales were magnificent – diamond-hard and coloured in the deepest purple an imagination can conjure – as they caught and reflected the pale moonlight in its depths. Unlike many of her kind, she did not seem to mind the chill that the sun had left behind when it set beyond the mountain range. Instead, she seemed content in the cool shade that twilight provided, arching a graceful neck towards the dark heavens in a sort of sorrowful longing.

Harry sighed, empathetic towards her plight, but unable to do more than utter meaningless assurances to the great beast. Slowly, intelligent golden eyes were lowered to meet his gaze and a cold snout was pressed against his front in an affectionate but none too gentle nudge. The dragon keeper stumbled slightly upon contact but quickly regained his balance with a mild chuckle, finally reaching for the tub of medicated salve that lay at his feet.

"You're welcome," he told her as though responding to an unheard comment while he coated gloved fingers with the creamy substance before rubbing it into exposed flesh. It would take some time, but new scales would soon grow to replace those that had been painfully scratched off. "Perhaps next time you will think twice about flying in between mountain gaps that far too narrow for your own hide."

She let out a loud huff at that, almost whining in protest as he worked the salve into the six foot-long tear. It was an ugly wound and though her green-eyed healer would prefer it if she kept off of flying until her scales grew out, Harry knew better than to try to keep her grounded against her considerable will.

"Difficult beast," he murmured fondly, spreading the last of the salve at the edge of the tear and dropping a quick kiss by its side. As if sensing that his task was complete, the dragon rose on her haunches and carefully shifted in a tight circle so that she could comfortably look him in the face.

Several moments passed as man and beast silently linked thoughts against the backdrop of the open country air, Harry almost crumbling with relief at her steady understanding and age-old patience as she assimilated his thoughts and memories. Grabbing a hold of one in particular, she returned it to him with a questioning thought.

"Yeah, that's him," the wizard absently responded after a moment, viewing the memory of a strikingly handsome Charlie Weasley who, in his haste to avoid him, nearly tumbled arse over tit out of the dragon nursery.

A disdainful stream of thought came from his draconian companion and Harry could not help but laugh aloud.

"I suppose he isn't the brightest cookie in the toffee tin," he allowed, slipping eyelids shut over eyes that had clouded over. The young _Dominus _rested his chin on her snout, breathing in the familiar sooty scent he had grown up with. It was, he informed her, his favourite cologne.

Reaching into a pouch tied at his waist, Harry offered the dragon a fist-sized opal which she immediately snapped up in unconcealed delight. The brunette grinned, enjoying the sight of her enjoying the treat, but hastily scrambled away as she heaved forward to demand for more.

"Just that one tonight!" He admonished her after he found his footing on a smooth rock about five metres away. She responded with an insistent thought and he tilted his head to the side in mock consideration. "Only if you behave yourself."

Affronted, the mighty beast snapped her jaws by his ear and let loose a stream of air hot enough to toast a heifer. Upon seeing that this had no effect on him, she huffed and deliberately turned her back to him in what might have been a dismissive act but seemed to Harry more like a pout.

"That's just unbecoming, young lady."

The laugh that this teasing remark elicited was a bright but obviously human one that fairly chimed out in the still night. Harry swung around, startled to see that a colleague had been spying on his interactions with an old friend without his knowledge.

An unconcerned Cynthia hopped up onto his claimed rock, clad in full-body protective gear that did not seem to hinder her movements as she easily swung an arm around his shoulders and eyed the pissy dragon. Slender fingers tapped a catchy rhythm against his shoulders as the other dragon keeper hummed lightly under her breath, studying the majestic creature before her. Gradually, Harry relaxed into the non-confining hold, although he made no move to return the too-familiar gesture.

"Didn't know that we had a violet _Venti_ dragon around here," the blonde finally commented after a length of time.

"We didn't," the Boy-Who-Lived shrugged, tugging habitually at a lock of hair. "She just flew in tonight and promptly gave herself a nasty cut."

"She'll be all right then?" Cynthia queried – rather needlessly, in her opinion, considering the dragon's earlier antics.

"Just fine," Harry replied, offering her a quick grin. "Unless she decides to do something uncharacteristically stupid again."

At this deliberate jibe, the fully-grown dragon huffed loudly again and swished her dangerously spiked tail, thumping it far too close to where they stood for Cynthia's comfort. Her fellow keeper merely snorted back at his patient and she could not help the awe she felt at witnessing the level of communication Harry could establish with the beasts they worked with.

"How do you_ do _that?" She demanded finally, not quite processing her words until they had already escaped from her control. Harry arched a brow at her and she elaborated: "I mean, you interact with a dragon a day after they arrive in an unfamiliar land, and convince them to let you _touch_ them at their most vulnerable. That's…"

_Dominus_ level work.

Had it been anyone else, it was almost a given that a week was needed for a tentative trust to be formed between keeper and dragon and another week before the beast would accept medical treatment that required touching at length. Yet Harry, very much like _Dominus_ Kelly, would simply waltz onto the scene, take an assessing look at the dragon before promptly delivering treatment. It was jaw-droppingly amazing and annoyingly breath-taking. Had the wizard not been a perfectly affable and unassuming person, he would probably have been ostracized within his first week of arrival.

But Harry merely shrugged now as a roguish grin, more genuine than his first, lit up his countenance.

"It's a secret."

"Pffft. Dragon dung."

"No, no," the boy responded with mock innocence. "Nothing to do with that."

"…"

"What?"

"Oh, shut up."

With practiced ease, Cynthia ignored the male and carefully stripped off the protective gear that she wore, starting with the thick dragonhide gloves and ending with the shin-pads made from dragon bone. Harry slipped down to sit on the stone as she did so, watching the scaled beast with quiet contentment. Neither witch nor wizard said a word until the purple _venti_ dragon had lowered her head to rest upon the ground in slumber. Then, Harry gathered up the empty tub and his cloak, sending a last reassuring thought to his mighty friend before leading Cynthia towards the residential tents.

"Don't you sometimes wish that you could deal with men the way you deal with dragons?" The blonde witch queried abruptly, earning her a curious emerald glance.

"It would be a lot simpler," Harry acquiesced after an uncertain pause.

"Not to mention a lot easier on our lives," Cynthia snorted. "You'd probably be able to send those Brit wizards on their way with a stern glance. And you'd probably see past Charlie's hard-headedness in a heartbeat and realise that he's just as needy for some tender lovin' from you as your precious dragon patients are. Maybe then he'd also be able to start acting like the man he is than the little adolescent whelp he degenerates into…"

She seemed to be trying to tell him something, Harry realised, only half-listening as Cynthia carried on the conversation on her own, needing little more than the occasional grunt from him to fuel its journey. But his thoughts were with the dragon he had left behind in the paddock and with the occasional image and thought being sent through their mental link.

He was the reason why she had traversed the skies, flying all the way from the Academy to Romania and injuring herself in the process of searching for him. He had been so caught up with the recent events from the British Isles that he had neglected his bonded and forgot to renew their mind connections. Though she refused to let him beat himself up over it, she could not prevent the guilt from settling somewhere in his gut as he sent another apology to the dragon who had graciously bestowed upon him his _Dominus_ status, pledging her life to his and tying his life to hers.

Jeremy would be writing soon, he knew, if only to reprimand Harry for his thoughtlessness. His bonded could have lost all sense of sanity had they remained apart for too much longer.

"I appreciate it, Cynthia," Harry sighed, when his human companion finally lulled into a moment of silence in between her tirade of advice. "But it's late and I'm bloody tired. You should probably get back to work while I catch up on some sleep."

"Sure," the blonde agreed easily, already slipping her gloves back on. "Just think about what I've told you okay?"

"Of course."

Not that he had caught much of what she had said.

* * *

_A measure of discontent_

It was like watching an intricate dance of the highest complexity possible, where every last step and twist of a heel had to be rehearsed and practiced until the dancing partners could perform it together without second thoughts. Sometimes they moved perfectly in tandem and at other times, one stepped back to allow his partner to claim the limelight. Each move was executed flawlessly with finesse and unmatchable teamwork and chemistry that one could only watch, marvel and wonder about the outcome of such an epic dance.

They moved around each other as smooth as silk against hairless skin, their impeccable synchronization drawing the attention of onlookers and raising eyebrows as they passed. When Harry entered, Charlie would exit gracefully (or gracelessly, depending on the method of escape). When Charlie spoke, Harry suffered from an acute (but temporary) loss of hearing. When they were forced together, never of their own violation, gazes never met and conversations never formed. Tirelessly, they danced around each other, bending, turning and swirling in a flurry of movement that no one else could begin to comprehend.

It drove everyone around them mad to distraction.

Charlie's blatant and flat-out refusal to help The Order of the Flaming Chicken convince their Boy Wonder to return to England received a less than positive response. Especially when he elucidated his reasons of merely not wanting to talk to him. The dragon keepers were more than marginally annoyed when Harry overtly went around swopping shifts and duties to avoid meeting Charlie while on the job and Enya was downright pissed when Harry refused to enter a Bistro because a "redheaded devil" had settled in it for lunch.

Cynthia called them childish.

Jeremy thought it was hilarious.

_Dominus_ Kelly refused to get involved.

Everyone else sat and watched, eagerly awaiting the climax of the dance.

It took a long time in coming.

* * *

A/N: I hope the chapter was worth the wait. Feedback is always welcome.

Quick request: Drop me a note and let me know if there's any (specific) thing about Harry's past that you want to know more about. For example: Why does Harry's classmates call him HJP? I'm not guaranteeing any answers, but they _may_ appear in subsequent chapters as part of the story. Cheers!


	4. Chapter 4

Lerafea Draconis Dominus Chapter 4

Standard disclaimers apply.

Chapter rating: PG – some death, angst and swearing. A rather heavy chapter.

Author's note: I do live. And I do intend to finish this. Apologies for the wait, and thanks for sticking around.

* * *

_Earnest entreaties _

Shuffling feet, stuttered words and incomplete sentences, hands so wrung out, Harry was almost sure the man had cut off his own blood circulation once or twice. Rubeus Hagrid was indubitably uncomfortable. _Highly _uncomfortable. And emotional. And very, very earnest. Which, in turn, made the Boy-Who-Lived shift nervously where he stood as he sought an escape path with a darting gaze that went unnoticed.

"Yeh got to understand, 'Arry," the half-giant was pleading with him, looking entirely forlorn with huge eyes that were wet with tears. "We _need _yeh."

Carding fingers roughly through his hair, the green-eyed man shook his head slowly, finally crossing his arms over his chest and standing with his feet shoulder-length apart. It was a stance that spoke of firmness, resolve and a steely determination to not budge in his decision. Even in the face of such a pathetic expression.

"Yeh were so tiny when ah first saw yeh. Picked yeh up an' brought yeh to the headmaster himself after…"

Of course, body language seemed to be beyond the comprehension of this gentle half-giant. Hardly surprising, given his astounding lack of understanding of the English language and inability to take 'no' for an answer. With a loud sigh that went ignored by his visitor, Harry turned his gaze to the side and took in the beauty of the land he had fallen deeply and irrevocably in love with. The skies were clear and cloudless – a perfect day for flying and leaving behind all mortal worries.

As Hagrid rambled uselessly on, the dragon handler reached out with his mind towards his bonded, allowing her to draw him into her thoughts. The dragon suffered a minute of his whining before showing him an image of the cow she had been fed for breakfast, clearly unimpressed by the predicament he was stuck in. She could, if he so wished, roast the man for him. Or pick him up and drop him on the mountain range. There would be no repercussions for _her_, after all, and no prosecutor was going to turn up with court summons, accusing her of breaking the international laws that prohibited violence within dragon gates. It certainly was not her fault her gormless human was too polite to throw the man out. Or take up any of her suggestions.

"Mr. Hagrid."

"Jus' Hagrid is fine, 'Arry."

"Mr. Hagrid," Harry repeated firmly, batting away an image of a bloody bovine carcass from his bonded with a growl. "I'm afraid my answer has not changed. And is unlikely to change in the foreseeable future."

The half-giant opened his mouth, clearly ready to protest, but the dark-haired handler raised a gloved hand and cut him off before he had even uttered the first syllable.

"Time's a-wasting," he said. "Yours and mine. There are only so many hours in a day, and so many things to do. Every second we spend here listening to your futile attempts at convincing me to 'go home' is a second I'm being paid for to do nothing. By that logic, you are wasting my employer's time as well."

Hagrid's face fell, and damn buggery blast it all, a twinge of guilt surfaced in response to his forlorn expression.

Another heavy sigh was issued as Harry gazed skywards and murmured a short plea for help. There was an answering call of a dragon in flight, somewhere in the distance. Earnest. Harry could do earnestness with the best of them too.

"You told me that you love dragons," he said when Hagrid's sputtering and stuttering had died out. "I love dragons too. In fact, I _live _for dragons, Mr. Hagrid. Look around you. Take it in. Breathe in the scents and listen to the sounds. This is my life. This is where I belong. This _is_ my home. I don't have to _go_ anywhere to find it. What are you going to do? Drag me kicking and screaming away from it and lock me up in a house with four walls and a guarded door? And then claim that you were merely bringing me 'home', albeit against my wishes, which _clearly_ do not matter?"

"No!" Hagrid protested. "I wouldna –"

"Good," the younger wizard nodded, digging the heel of his boot into the ground and turning sharply away. "Because you can't. Now, would you like a tour, or shall I show you to the entrance?"

It was almost amusing how torn his visitor looked, having failed at his mission yet still obviously desiring to take a gander about the place. But denying one's heart's desires was never an easy thing, and Harry soon found himself enjoying the earnest enthusiasm the half-giant had for his beloved beasts.

* * *

_The right or the easy_

"You look like shit."

"Thanks, Jem."

"Well, you do," the man shrugged, swinging open the door to let him into his home with a completely unrepentant expression.

"It's been a long week."

"Imagine that."

Harry shot his mentor a baleful glare as he threw himself in an ungraceful heap on the couch, kicking off his boots and curling up on it. He was handed a cup of hot apple cinnamon cider a moment later before Jeremy joined him on the couch, depositing his feet on the younger wizard's lap.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"Not particularly." The verdant-eyed man draped the arm holding his mug over Jeremy's calves and propped his head up on the other. "Just British wizards dropping in one by freakin' one, totally unannounced, to try to talk me into 'going home' and 'joining the cause'. And of course there is Charlie freakin' Weasley who oscillates between avoiding me like the bubonic plague and prying into my personal space and life as though he is entitled to it."

The Boy-Who-Lived huffed and downed half his cider, expression stormy as he recalled their most recent run in with one another. The redhead was so _infuriating_.

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing," the teenager declared, eyes bright with a surprising amount of vindictiveness as lips were thinned into a straight line. "Who are they to demand that I return to England to fight a war for them? What makes them think that I will roll onto my back and present my belly to them, and agree to every suggestion that trips from their lips? What _right _do they have to impose an _owed duty_ on me?"

"You knew this would happen someday," Jeremy reminded him placidly, his tone as calm as an autumn scene, unaffected by the bubbling magma of his ex-student's mounting agitation. "You knew you couldn't hide forever. I thought you were okay with that – that you wanted to help."

"They want to bring charges against you!" An incredulous look was leveled at him, but Jeremy merely arched a brow in response to the sudden non-sequitor. "For _kidnapping_ me! How bloody ridiculous is that? It's _blackmail_," Harry hissed, slamming his mug down on a table, stray magic rattling the lamp by the couch and causing the light to flicker.

"It's blackmail because it's true." The blonde withdrew his legs from Harry's lap and sat up, regarding the younger male with a steady cerulean gaze. "You know this, Harry. I knew it might come down to a criminal charge when I pulled you from your relatives' care with consent obtained by duress. I'm more than prepared to face the ICW and make my case. If it comes down to it, I will face the necessary consequences."

"_No_. You shouldn't have to." Having worked himself up into a furious state by now, the Boy-Who-Lived was glaring at his companion. "And they shouldn't be using you as leverage against me to do their bidding. Oh, don't get me wrong, Jem. I'll do it to protect you if I have to. But this is _wrong_."

"Harry, you grew up knowing that someday you would be expected to do something about your past. So don't go using me as the reason you finally go out there and step up to whatever it is they are asking you to step up to."

"I know! I _know_," the younger wizard insisted, agitation making his lips curl into an unattractive sneer. "But the more they push me into doing this and treat me like I'm some kind of foolish, simpleton _child_, the more I want to wash my hand off the whole affair."

Jeremy shrugged, and the pair fell silent.

"You'll do the right thing," Jeremy said after a tense silence had settled between them, standing and withdrawing his wand as he ducked around to the dining room. A swish and a jab and the ingredients for their dinner began to dance out of the larder and cupboards. "For the right reasons. I'm not telling you what you should or should not do. I've never had to and I shouldn't have to now."

"Are you guilt tripping me?"

"I don't need to guilt trip you," the blonde shrugged. "The decision is yours to make without outside interference. You know the difference between what is easy and what is right. You were brought up better."

_Jeremy_ had brought him up better.

* * *

_Wonders of the world_

Squatting, the dark-haired child eyed the green buds peeking from beneath the ground, poking at them with childish curiousity and asking would they reeeaaally become tulips and what colours would they be and could they come back and look at them when they have blossomed?

His angel laughed in response, dropping a wooly hat on his head before picking him up in his arms. They would go to Amsterdam to see the tulip fields in spring, he promised. For now, however, did Harry not think that Petra was an amazing sight to behold? The rose-red city was half as old as time, a stunning historical, geographical and architectural wonder against a backdrop of mountains in which passages and gorges were hidden like lost treasure waiting to be found. Kings of old had been buried in these magnificent tombs carved out of stone, all without the aid of magic and with the sheer ingenuity of non-magical men.

Nine-year-old Harry gave his mentor an unimpressed look, pointing out that the donkeys, camels and horses were a lot more riveting to his mind and could he not get a ride from one of them? In fact, why were little boys his age plying their trade to them? Should they not be in school? Or were they on their winter holidays too?

Clearly, the little one was much more interested in living things that moved and breathed than a dead city uninhabited by people. Clearly.

Then Jeremy apparated them to the highest point in the city, and the verdant-eyed boy fell silent, staring out across the vast Jordanian land as he took in the breathtaking view.

Magic, he told his angel, and small tentative smile spread across his face. The land was _not_ dead. There was magic in it and he could see it. Magic in the red stones and the towering mountains in the distance. There was also, he informed Jeremy with the solemnest face he could muster, magic on the cliff they were standing on. Blood magic and sacrifice. Was he not right?

The wizard cocked his head at his unlikely charge, and nodded, equally solemn. They were standing on the place of high sacrifice where rituals had been done in the past and many animals had been sacrificed to numerous deities and gods.

Too many deaths, young Harry observed quietly. The Grand Canyon had more life. The Aurora Borealis had spirituality and other-worldliness. This was a beautiful place, the child agreed. But a very cold one too, where destructive waters flooded the lands and strife ravaged its people. Jeremy had taught him that without death there would be no life. He understood that. Appreciating that and enjoying it were, however, two disparate things and he very much preferred to enjoy the beauty of life.

And could they ride a donkey down the steep incline instead of apparating, please?

Jeremy laughed, pressing a kiss to Harry's forehead, acquiescing easily to young one's request. Heaven knew his little wise man made too little of those.

* * *

_Justified justifications_

As the second child in a brood of seven, Charlie knew how easy it was to fade into the background. He also learned from a young age how easy it was to push the blame to someone else and to shirk one's responsibilities for someone else to pick up the slack. Granted, he had not made a habit of it, but the temptation was always there. Hiding behind Bill's leadership, taking advantage of Percy's uptight nature, laughing at the twins' raucous behavior he only made a half-hearted attempt to stop, and easily dismissing his littlest brother's sulking as a bid for attention. Ginny was the precious one, but their mother coddled her enough for all of them.

At the end of the day, however, Molly Weasley had brought her children up well. With her lovingly strict hand, the matriarch had instilled in them the general principles of what it meant to be a good person. She taught them with stories and children's tales, with history books and wizarding fables. Every child she raised knew what it meant to do the right thing, and that it was right to be upright, honest, brave and light.

When Charlie had first spotted that lightning-shaped scar on the forehead of the lithe Adonis, his pounding heart had done a wronski feint toward his stomach as a stunned expression settled on his chiseled features. After all, one did not meet the stuff of legends or the hero of one's baby sister's favourite bedtime story every day.

The rage that had followed swiftly after startled even him, coursing through the blood in his veins until his temple throbbed something fierce.

For most of his young adult life, wizarding Britain had been a chaotic mess. An incompetent ministry fighting against a brilliant and psychopathic manic while a secret order was forced to operate below the radar or face legal consequences. It was why Bill had left for Egypt, urging his younger brother to do the same and follow his dreams to Romania. Yet the oldest two of the youngest Weasleys did so with a large amount of guilt weighing down on them. It had felt too much like selfishly running away in spite of their parents' encouragements and Albus Dumbledore's reassurances.

So the both of them carried a portkey each, to pull them back to their motherland the instant they were sought out and news of another Death Eater attack reached them. It was not as good as permanently staying on the frontlines of battle, but it went a long way in assuaging their guilt for abandoning their family and the fight.

The redheaded dragon handler fingered the phoenix pendant portkey he wore around his neck even as his other hand raised a glass of whiskey to his lips, a heavy frown creasing his forehead and curling his lips downward.

Harry Potter was not who – or what – Charlie had expected him to be. Missing. That was his official status in the British wizarding registry. Kidnapped, Albus had explained, worry creasing that age-old forehead. To be found at all costs.

Because without him, the wizarding world would soon be lost to the dark clutches of the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Yet there he was, hale, healthy and far too strikingly handsome for his own good as he worked behind the relative safety of the Dragons' Gate.

Curiously, what was most attractive about him was not his smooth, tanned skin or toned physique. It was his zest for life, his love for dragons, and his free spirit, warmth and generosity. It was his strength in spirit, patience and humility.

A man like that was obviously good and obviously light. But it remained an undisputed fact that he was aware of the situation with Voldemort and still chose to remain hidden away, oceans away from his homeland and the imminent crisis it was facing. Not only were the British facing death, they were also facing the increasing risk of discovery by the muggles – something that would no doubt endanger their ways of living and perhaps even their survival.

Did he not care?

The whiskey burned a pathway down his gullet and into his roiling stomach.

And yet again…

"Why me?" The younger wizard had asked one evening when they were alone, camped on the ledge of a cliff to wait for the hatching of a clutch of ironbelly eggs. Earlier in the day, Andromeda Tonks had stopped by to convince her little god-cousin to go back home with her. Inky strands fell across his face, tousled by the wind and damp from the clouds. He looked forlorn, and a little lost, unfocused gaze cast across the darkening distance. Almost like a child that needed reassurance that he was still loved and not alone, Charlie remembered thinking. "Why do you need _me_?"

That was when Charlie realised: He did not know.

* * *

_Blood of the innocents_

It happened so quickly, no one could have been completely sure what had happened. One moment the men were talking stiffly but cordially in the nursery, and in the next, duelling spells were being flung across the enclosed space. Before the all hell broke loose, there had been shouting from the tall redhead and a gruff caution from the wizened auror. Then Harry turned his back to them, clearly dismissing them, and the younger visitor had lost the last vestiges of his cool.

A curse cast to the back of a retreating wizard. A cutting curse easily dodged by a trained, retreating wizard. A cutting curse that struck the neck of a week-old dragonling, far too young to have developed its armour.

The spilling of innocent blood happened in the nursery that night, and Harry could only bite back his anguish and curb his fury.

International laws of peace meant nothing in the face of retrieving the Boy-Who-Lived, it seemed. Treaties could be broken and a murder and a kidnapping performed in broad daylight in front of witnesses. It was with a good deal of bitterness that the dragon _dominus _glared down at the cowering redhead on the ground, a furious snarl and a curse curling his lips.

"Did you know that it is forbidden to cast offensive spells within a Dragon Gate, Mr. Weasely?" He asked, but never gave the other wizard the time to reply. "Do you know the repercussions of doing so without any perceived danger to your life? And do you know the consequences of _killing _a protected species, Mr. Weasley? You are a rash, inconsiderate, thoughtless, fucking son of a bitch, Mr. Weasley, and I will see to it that you pay and you pay _dearly_ for this crime you have committed."

"Potter. Let Ron up," the other guest ordered, though his tone had softened considerably from the previous demand he had made of Harry. "You cannot be the judge, jury and executor here. And if you attack the lad, you too will be in breach of the peace treaty."

A burning verdant gaze met his unflinchingly, not even fazed by the eye that spun in a socket.

"You have no place to speak here, Alastor Moody."

The length of wood in the slighter wizard's hand was swept up and snapped forward, a single hissed spell banishing both Moody and Charlie's youngest brother to _Dominus_ Kelly's tent to await their fate. Because it was either that, or the sickly green glow of the killing curse right then.

* * *

_Ramifications of the heart_

His tears had dried, leaving behind unseen tracks of grief that tore at weary heartstrings. In his arms he cradled the weight of the little dragonling, a creature so fragile it was hard to imagine that it would have grown into a ferocious beauty capable of razing villages to the ground; its scales were not yet even hard. Silently, fingers traced the places where the natural protective armour would have first formed around budding wings, down the silky back to a tail that bore the first beginnings of a spiked tip.

Harry could still hear the angered screams of the baby's mother, painfully loud and piercing, ringing in his head and across the plains behind the Gate. She had had to be sedated with _Dominus _Kelly's help and the older wizard was still tending to her just meters away from where the green-eyed keeper sat heavily on the grass. He could not bring himself to react to anything. All he could do was sit there and wonder about things – the frailty of life, Kelly's skill with their scaly companions, the sheer audacity of wizards, the destruction wizards (and mankind) were able to inflict… Yet it was as though he had cleaved rational thought from emotions.

He _knew_ he was pained and angry. Furious, even. But still the wizard sat there, a silent figure on the ground, nimble fingers tracing patterns on leathery skin with the gentlest of touches.

A cold snout pressed insistently against his side, drawing a heavy verdant gaze from the lifeless body in his lap to the bright, curious eyes of the dragonling's brother. Even then, Harry said nothing, merely lifting his arm to allow the young shortsnout to clamber onto his lap. Like his younger sibling, the infant dragon was a dull grey that would blend perfectly into the rocky terrain to which they were native to.

The young dragon keeper bore their combined weight without complaint, it being a mere fraction of the boulder that had settled itself on his heart.

"Harry."

Kelly was striding towards him, his expression neutral as he regarded his employee. Whistling a short pattern, the man opened his arms and caught the dragonling that bounded into his arms, ignoring the series of fragmented thoughts that the infant shoved demandingly into his mind. Harry heard them too, though he took the other _Dominus' _cue and let the creature's wordless questions go unanswered.

"Come. She's ready to receive the young one."

Wordlessly, the Boy-Who-Lived rose to his feet, not once jostling the precious burden he cradled tightly to his chest. Together, the two men approached the waiting dragon and faced the reproachful gaze she pinned on them, shouldering the blame that could easily be attributed to another of their kind. With both hands, the dark-haired wizard offered her baby to her.

With one claw, she unburdened him, leaving in her wake a long gash upon his arm as she shakily took flight, the sedatives still running their course in her veins. The infant dragon keened aloud, and tried to take flight, but Kelly quelled his complaints with a tap of his fingers against the still-harmless snout, his solemn gaze following the path the dragon had taken in the skies.

Only when she was a speck in the horizon did Kelly hand the remaining dragonling to Harry, patting him on the back in a show of understanding and solidarity before leaving the nursery's field. The young creature nosed at the gash on his arm, earning him a wince from his human keeper.

"Do you miss your sister, Rodwen?"

The shortsnout whined a little, its forked tongue darting out to get a whiff of the coppery substance dripping from open flesh. It was too young to form proper thought but Harry managed to glean the idea of confusion from its developing mind, drawing a sigh from him.

"It is my hope that you'll never have to understand, little one."

As if in indignation, the infant dragon wormed its way out of Harry's loose grasp and went off in search of its kindred companions. The wizard watched him leave with a dispassionate gaze, absently smearing blood between his thumb and pointer finger even as crimson droplets dripped intermittently to the ground.

"You should get that looked at."

"You should stop telling me what to do."

"Potter, I – "

"Don't need to hear it," Harry hissed, abruptly turning on his heel to face the redhead who had been the cause of almost all of his problems since his arrival at the gate. Green orbs burned fiercely with ire and a good deal amount of frustration as he took one step and then another towards Charlie. It seemed that the older Keeper brought the worst of emotions out of him at all times.

Anger. Fear. Judgment. Jealousy. Unbidden, even if he wished it would stay behind its occlumency barriers until he was ready to deal with it. In about a century or five.

If his wand had not been broken in the fight, Harry just knew that it would be in his hand, bloody or not.

"You've done enough, Weasley. I don't want to talk to you."

"I'm _sorry_." And he looked like he was. But it would take a lot more than bloodshot eyes and a tear-choked voice to evoke sympathy from Harry. His grief for the killed dragon was not solely his own. It was shared by the community and Charlie was no exception. It did nothing, however, to abate the heated blood that pumped rapidly through his veins.

In fact, underneath his tan, the wizard was probably rather pale, given the amount of blood that had slipped from the deep gash in his arm.

"_Episky_."

Jerking back and away from the healing spell from Charlie's wand, Harry felt it whizz just inches from his skin. Powder blue eyes met his own, regret shining from within.

"I just want to –"

"Leave."

"Potter, I never meant for it to get this far. I had no idea they would react this way. I know apologies mean nothing right now but…"

It was drivel. And like the meaningless words that they were, they fell inconsequentially upon Harry's ears. It had been said that the path to hell is paved with good intentions, and the British wizard did not doubt that Charlie had the interest of many at heart. But that meant _nothing_ to him.

Roughly shouldering past those broad shoulders that he had stolen glances at many times before, the younger wizard left the nursery, pausing only to gather gauze and potions from the supply before retreating to his tent where he could like his wounds – both figurative and literal – in private.

For years Harry had struggled with the notion that he was the wizarding world's unwitting savior. He had brooded, debated, mulled over and sometimes fought over what he had to do about it. What i_duties_/i he had as the acclaimed defeater of the dark lord. When the news of Voldemort's theft of the Sorcerer's stone and his subsequent resurrection had reached the school, he had even wondered if he should return to England – a notion swiftly killed by his friends and guardian. He did not owe his life to anyone but himself and his parents' sacrifice. Those that abandoned him to abusive relatives certainly had no claim over him and he most decidedly did not owe obligations to them.

He was, after all, but a child.

And in many ways, he still was a child, clinging to his safety blanket of anonymity and hiding behind the fortress that his many protectors had formed around him.

Harry did not want to be the Boy-Whose-Parents-Died-For-Him. He wanted normalcy. His friends offered him that and he had had hopes that he would, one day, find a person generous enough to offer him that and much more. Like a lifetime of happiness. There was no need for a handsome man or gorgeous woman to sweep him off his feet with roguishly good looks and devastating charm. Only a yearning for someone to gaze at him without judgment and without demanding that he live up to his destiny.

It seemed, thus, that anyone British would not make the cut. And he was angry enough that he would do more than simply curse the dragonling slayer should he ever lay his eyes upon his face again.

Methodically sewing up the wound, the verdant-eyed dragon keeper sighed, and pushed his depressing thoughts behind mental barriers again. His bonded was calling for him, and the desire to drink himself into oblivion was winning over his need to sleep.

Everything else could wait another night.

* * *

To be continued...


End file.
